“Long enough, were I a wagering man, to lay heavy odds the 727 is here. I got a guy out there now taking a real close look.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s the one we’re looking for,” Charley said. “We taxied past it. It’s got freshly painted registration numbers, and the red, white, and blue stripes on the vertical stabilizer Pevsner’s guy saw on it in Venezuela.”
Colonel Torine and Sergeant Sherman walked up.
“You all right, Jake? Nothing broken?”
“I’m fine.”
“You okay, Charley?” Torine asked.
Castillo nodded.
“How is it that you’re here, sir?” Torine asked McNab.
“McFadden and Naylor got me on the radio and said they’d found a sandy beach not far from here. Some CIA guy had done compression tests and, theoretically, it would take a C-17. With the fingers of both hands crossed, I decided to give it a shot.”
“Obviously, it took the 17.”
“More or less. We got down all right. But stopped for more than a couple of minutes, the Globemaster starts to sink in the sand. It was a hell of a job getting the Little Birds off; we had to keep the airplane moving all the time we were unloading. It looked like a Chinese fire drill.”
“But you’re unloaded.”
“There’s two gunships and four troop carriers about five miles away. Did I mention that the C-17 is taxiing up and down the beach, back and forth, back and forth? I don’t know how long that’s going to work. Nor do I know whether or not we can get it back in the air.”
“Empty, you probably can,” Torine said. “There’s an awesome amount of thrust on a 17.”
“Empty? What am I supposed to do with the Little Birds? Torch them?”
A tall, blond sergeant first class, dressed as was General McNab in a jungle camouflage uniform, came up. He had a CAR-4 hanging from his shoulder and was carrying what looked like a laptop computer in his hands like a tray. It was open.
“Stedder’s in place, General,” he said and started to hand the laptop to McNab.
“Will you hold it, please, Sergeant Orson?” McNab said.
Castillo got quickly up.
“Careful with that 7UP, Charley,” McNab said. “This is the only one of these we have.”
“Stedder reports the Lear has taken off, sir,” Sergeant Orson said.
“Where’s he going, Charley?” McNab asked.
“Nicaragua, to report where we are and that we think we’ve found the 727.”
McNab grunted and looked at the laptop computer. It displayed an image of the 727 from the side.
Whoever’s taking these must be on the roof of that building, CENTRAL AMERICAN FREIGHT FORWARDING, whatever.
The image also showed some movement. There were a half dozen security guards in military-looking uniforms on the tarmac. When they moved, it was as if they did so in slow motion.
“Can he give us a close-up of the front door?” Castillo asked.
McNab typed rapidly on the laptop’s keyboard.
The screen went dark, then lit up with an out-of-focus view of the forward part of the aircraft, which then came into focus.
All that could be seen was the top of the movable stairway. The open door was clearly visible but nothing was visible inside the aircraft.